Every Day Quotes December
by MissJayne
Summary: A series of oneshots and drabbles about our favourite characters. One quote per day.
1. Dec 1

_**Dec 1**_

Courage is the power to let go of the familiar.

**Raymond Lindquist**

Abby Scuito did not spend much time in Director Shepard's office, but when she did, there was usually a good reason.

Like planning a girl's night out, debating the best ways to kill someone, or discussing secret female things that Tony would give his right arm to find out.

Come to think of it, Gibbs probably would too if he had any idea how often he was talked about and in what context.

The Goth was excited about this female meeting for an unusual reason. She was going to be bait to draw out a suspect at a bar, but she had to ditch her normal attire. Hence the monkey suit Ziva and Jenny were helping her with.

"Don't forget, Abby," Jenny began, straightening up for a moment. "You will have back-up at all times."

Abby giggled. She wasn't worried about back-up. "A Mossad assassin and an ex-marine watching my six? I'll be safer than the President."

"Of which country?" Ziva piped up.

Jenny gave her a brief glare. "Ziva!"

The Israeli was confused. "It is a genuine question, is it not?"

Abby continued to giggle. She couldn't imagine a safer place to be, and right now, she couldn't imagine two other friends she'd rather be getting ready with.


	2. Dec 2

_**Dec 2  
**_Without friends no one would choose to live, though he had all other goods.  
**Aristotle (384 BC - 322 BC)**, _Nichomachean Ethics_

Tony DiNozzo loved his possessions. His partner regularly told him that he was too possessive of them, but usually only after she had tried to steal something and he'd had to prevent her.

By smacking her hand away.

Possibly not the best thing to do to a Mossad assassin, but she hadn't killed him yet. Something told him she had a soft spot for him and was unlikely to murder him now.

Or it might have had something to do with Director Shepard informing them that killing a partner was against one of _el jefe_'s Rules. Part of him wanted to demand the number; another part told him it was a lie and he would rather Ziva didn't find out.

His possessions meant the world to him. If his apartment building ever caught fire, he would die in it trying to decide what to save. He spent inordinate amounts of money buying new clothes and DVDs, making sure he had the best television for his living room and filling his entire apartment with material goods.

However many possessions he had, he valued his friends more. If he lost his belongings, he could buy new ones. But he would never find such friends again if he searched the world.


	3. Dec 3

_**Dec 3  
**_Thou art all the comfort,  
he Gods will diet me with.  
**William Shakespeare (1564 - 1616)**

Ziva David required very little in the way of possessions. Comfort was low on her list of priorities. What mattered to her most was survival.

Her apartment was not bare, but it certainly was not full. Jenny had used the term 'Spartan' the last time she had come over. While Ziva did not mind collecting a few belongings, she made sure she did not become attached to them. If, for whatever reason, she had to run, she would not be taking much with her.

It was not that she did not treasure certain possessions; it was that they were few and far between. A blanket her mother had knitted for her. An old ring that had been passed down among her mother's family line. The Star of David she wore around her neck. If she lost them she would be devastated, but she would survive.

She was determined to survive.

But since coming to America, she had grown attach to a different kind of possession, a different kind of comfort. Friends. She had never really had them in Israel; they were co-workers or colleagues. She would die for them as representatives of her country, as fellow soldiers on the same side, not because she cared about them individually.

The comfort of friends had changed her. And she did not think she could survive without them any longer.


	4. Dec 4

_**Dec 4  
**_It's also helpful to realize that this very body that we have, that's sitting right here right now... with its aches and its pleasures... is exactly what we need to be fully human, fully awake, fully alive.  
**Pema Chodron**

Leroy Jethro Gibbs resisted the urge to limp as he entered the Navy Yard. The cold weather and an awkward sleeping position had aggravated his bad knee to the point where it wouldn't stop aching.

A normal person would have stayed in bed, or dosed up on painkillers before going to work. Not Gibbs. Pain was something to work through. And, after all, he couldn't leave his team to their own devices for the day. Not if he wanted a team to come back to. Painkillers would only blur his mind and make him less effective in the field.

He stepped onto the elevator, glad no one else dared to join him. He would be in a foul mood today, a way of venting his frustration with his knee onto others around him, whether they knew the underlying problem or not. His team were used to his behavior and would just have to put up with it.

The elevator jolted into action, making him tense involuntarily. Pain flooded through him and he winced. Damn the metal cage for being so old. He was tempted to pull the emergency stop to catch his breath and possibly try to massage the muscles in his knee (if he could even touch them when they were aching like this), but he knew it would only lead to more jolts.

Gritting his teeth as the elevator arrived on his floor and jolted once more, he stalked out into the squad room, fully prepared to vent his agony on someone.


	5. Dec 5

_**Dec 5  
**_The reason people blame things on previous generations is that there's only one other choice.  
**Doug Larson**

Ducky sighed as he put the phone down, wondering when it would ever end.

"The FBI are sending over two bodies they found in Rock Creek Park," he announced to his assistant, who was busy sowing up Corporal White. "Unfortunately, they already had our next guests on the gurneys before they realized they were both marines."

Palmer shrugged carelessly. "If it means we don't have to go to another difficult-to-reach crime scene, doctor."

"That's the problem with the youth of today," Ducky decided, reaching for the necessary paperwork he needed to complete before the van arrived. "If our friends at the FBI did not do a sterling job at the crime scene, we will have very little useful information. I would much rather have been called in immediately."

"I'm sure they didn't know they were marines when they arrived," Palmer tried to argue.

Ducky shook his head. "A simple fingerprint identification does not take long," he argued. "It should have taken no more than five minutes to determine this was our case, and then it should have been handed straight over to us. Incompetence, that's what this is."

Palmer wisely kept his mouth shut and nodded.

He sighed. "What is the world coming to? Where did you learn your bad habits from? Ah, the youth of today, killing each other indiscriminately. And you wonder why we live in such a violent world."


	6. Dec 6

_**Dec 6  
**_You don't need a weather man to know which way the wind blows.  
**Bob Dylan (1941 - )**, _Subterranean Homesick Blues_

Timothy McGee hated the wind. It made winter days even more freezing, destroyed his carefully-created hairstyle before he even made it to work, and assaulted him continually with the litter it picked off the streets.

It whipped raindrops into blurred bullets of water. It made his ears and nose turn a delightful shade of red, which more often than not led to Tony singing Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. It filled his eyes with dust and dirt, making them sting. It blew umbrellas inside out and stole his NCIS cap straight from his head.

Today, the wind was busy happily blowing a gale. Gusts of air attempted to blow him backwards while he tried to make it into the Navy Yard. He staggered backwards for a moment, before finding the strength to keep pushing onwards. His hands were firmly pushed into his pockets to keep them warm, but he shivered in his coat. It wasn't designed for this weather.

The fabric of his pants smacked into his legs, his head was bent against the wind. He couldn't look up from the floor without the cold air gusting into his eyes, making it difficult if not downright impossible to see. Shelter was just ahead. Just ahead…

Somehow he slipped into the building, breathing a sigh of relief as the wind left him alone to play with its next victim. If this held up, at least he would be blown back to his car at the end of the day.


	7. Dec 7

_**Dec 7  
**_Buy the ticket take the Ride

**Hunter S. Thompson (1939 - 2005)**, _Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas  
_Tony DiNozzo loved his car and hated public transportation.

Unfortunately, after someone stole his most prized possession (and while Abby had offered to boil them from the inside out if they were ever caught, it didn't quite make up for it), he was forced into using the Metro.

He would never use the bus. McGee used the bus and that summed it up. He was never getting in a car with the Probie either. Ziva had refused to allow him in her car since he had thrown up everywhere after a night out, including over her hair. And he was not able to find the words to ask Gibbs for a lift into work, mainly because he didn't fancy zero five hundred starts and incredibly late finishes.

So he was stuck taking the Metro until either the Metro cops found his baby or he splashed out on a new one. And until he found out what had happened to his baby, the latter was not an option.

He stared at the ticket machine in horror. How was he supposed to use this? How many options did he have? He only wanted some kind of direct route from his place to the Navy Yard, but this looked like a labyrinth of lines and connections.

Resisting the urge to whimper, he looked about for the nearest information kiosk. There had to be a pretty lady who could explain all this to him…


	8. Dec 8

_**Dec 8  
**_Be mild with the mild, shrewd with the crafty, confiding to the honest, rough to the ruffian, and a thunderbolt to the liar. But in all this, never be unmindful of your own dignity.  
**John Brown**

"He's going to kill us."

"No he's not."

"Actually kill us. Stab us with a scalpel. Or tie us to the table and perform a live autopsy."

"Stop over-exaggerating."

"Oh, fancy you using a long word. And I'm not. He pushed that French cop off a cliff for something much less than this."

Jennifer Shepard could not understand why Jethro was not taking this more seriously. There were dead unless they could figure out the best way out of this situation. Very dead. And then Ducky would be the one to do the autopsy (possibly the second one) and cover up their painful demises.

She would happily blame all this on him. She might have been the one in the driving seat, but Jethro had been distracting her by bringing up all the times she'd had accidents. Not the most reassuring thing when she was behind the wheel of _his_ car (only because she had stolen his keys and insisted on taking it for a spin).

And then she had accidently reversed into Ducky's Morgan. About the only thing Ducky prized, and probably irreplaceable. She had been tempted to drive off and pretend she'd never been there, but the damage couldn't be ignored and the yellow paint flecks from Gibbs' car would lead the doctor right back to them both.

"We could get McGee to tell him," Jethro suggested, apparently having realized the danger they were in.

"Or Palmer," Jenny offered.

They looked at each other as the same idea entered their heads simultaneously.

"DiNozzo."


	9. Dec 9

_**Dec 9  
**_Knowledge is power.  
(Ipsa Scientia Potestas Est)  
**Sir Francis Bacon (1561 - 1626)**, _Meditationes Sacræ. De Hæresibus. (1597)_

Abby Scuito knew how valuable knowledge was. It could easily be the difference between life and death. Modern science and medicine kept people alive for longer in better conditions. Surely an example of knowledge at its best.

It made a difference in other ways too. Most of the time, knowledge was the difference between flipping burgers or working in an office, whether students wanted to acknowledge it or not. Certain jobs were barred to those who didn't have specific knowledge, and with good reason. Abby didn't want a doctor treating her who couldn't read her chart or write a prescription.

But knowledge was powerful in the right hands. She could use science and knowledge to catch a criminal, whether a killer or a hacker or a thief or a mugger. She could prove it could only have been one particular person who had committed the offence. She could use her knowledge to convict a person beyond reasonable doubt in a court of law.

Knowledge was not a one-size-fits-all. Ziva used a different knowledge when she killed someone, her extensive knowledge of human anatomy and weapons. It was just as powerful as Abby's science, except the Goth was fairly sure she couldn't defend herself very well with a test tube.

Abby Scuito was aware how valuable knowledge was. But she was also aware it was openly available to anyone. And that was the beauty of it.


	10. Dec 10

_**Dec 10  
**_We now accept the fact that learning is a lifelong process of keeping abreast of change. And the most pressing task is to teach people how to learn.  
**Peter Drucker (1909 - 2005)**

Ducky loved learning. It was a skill he had picked up in his youth, however much today's youth argued that learning was not a skill at all. He knew better; they clearly had yet to learn anything.

Learning was fascinating. Every time he learnt about a new topic, he discovered how much more there was that he did not know. It excited him, urged him to delve further into the depths of knowledge. It was impossible for one person to ever learn everything – there was so much out there. And as it constantly changed, due to new discoveries or simple alterations in the flow of life, it could never be learnt in a single lifetime.

Despite that thought, he made an effort to learn something new every day. Whether it was the effects of a particular poison (which Ziva was always happy to discuss with him), something from popular culture, a new word he had not come across before, the brief history of a country or culture, or a recipe, he made sure he took the time to learn one new thing. Most days, he managed far more than one, but occasionally he needed the mental push.

Today, he had decided to learn the major constellations in the night sky. Perhaps Jethro was the person to ask for assistance on this.


	11. Dec 11

_**Dec 11  
**_A pound of pluck is worth a ton of luck.  
**James A. Garfield (1831 - 1881)**

Tony DiNozzo glanced around the squad room, wanting to be sure the coast was clear before he risked his life. With no sign of his teammates, he decided it was better to get this over and done with.

He darted across the gap between his and Ziva's desks, pulled open a drawer and began to frantically search through it. It was here. It had to be here. Unless she had put it back in another drawer…

Satisfied it was not in the first drawer, he began to ransack the second. Still not in there. Maybe the third –

"What are you doing?"

Drat. McGee had appeared and would quite happily tell his ninja chick if he wasn't careful.

"I need to borrow Ziva's toothbrush," Tony hissed. "Keep the noise down and look out for her, would you?"

"Why do you need to borrow it?" The Probie was pedantic. "You have your own in your desk."

"I did," Tony replied, continuing to search. "Until it sort of fell to pieces."

"Really?" McGee clearly didn't believe him.

"It's been held together with tape for the last three months," Tony pointed out. "Do you mind?"

"Not at all," Ziva joined in as Tony triumphantly pulled the purple toothbrush out from its hiding place. "How do you feel about losing a hand?"


	12. Dec 12

_**Dec 12  
**_If any man wish to write in a clear style, let him be first clear in his thoughts; and if any would write in a noble style, let him first possess a noble soul.  
**Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749 - 1832)**

Leroy Jethro Gibbs stared at the piece of paper in front of him. "Nope," he decided. "Not a clue."

His partner in crime, or more accurately his ex-partner, scowled and took the paper back from him. "It can't be _that_ difficult," she argued. "Oh."

He shot Jenny a brief glare at her lack of faith in his skills, but quickly forgot his annoyance and returned to the task at hand.

His team had been forced to attend a communications seminar the previous day. Naturally, with his unofficial permission, they had messed around a good bit. But he had overheard Tony whispering something about them to Ziva, and he wanted to be sure of what exactly it was. With a bit of luck, DiNozzo the Idiot had written some of his thoughts down.

Deciphering his chicken-scratch handwriting was proving to be a problem. Gibbs was somewhat used to it, which was why he insisted Tony type his reports up. However this random scribble of supposed notes was worse than usual.

"Is that a G or a J?" Jenny inquired, staring so closely at the paper her nose was almost touching it.

Gibbs glanced over. "Z," he pronounced. At her glare, he elaborated. "One of his easier letters."

Jenny sighed and lowered the paper. "Couldn't we just ask Ziva? Or Abby. She's got a new program to analyze code, or so she tells me."

Gibbs nodded in agreement. Abby could do it for them, if anyone could.


	13. Dec 13

_**Dec 13  
**_He hath eaten me out of house and home.  
**William Shakespeare (1564 - 1616)**, _"King Henry IV Part II", Act 2 scene 1_

Abby Scuito placed a bowl of steaming paella in front of Timmy and beamed. Let the fun commence!

She loved feeding people. To accept someone's food, a bond had to be formed. One of trust and peace. She and Timmy already had a bond like that, but she was happy to keep it in mind while she fed him.

She settled down in her own seat, continuing to smile at Timmy's eager expression. He looked like he wanted to dive straight it.

"Go on," she encouraged him.

The Goth examined her own paella briefly. It looked delicious, which she knew it must after an hour preparing it. Her favorite dish had been altered slightly with a few tips on spices from Ziva. Hmm, that was a thought, Ziva had yet to try her new and improved dish…

Looking up at Tim, she smiled. He was wolfing his food down, as though he hadn't eaten in days, which she knew to be untrue because they had shared lunch at a new restaurant five blocks from the Navy Yard that very afternoon. Someone else might have reminded him of his manners, but he was clearly enjoying it and she had no desire to slow him down. It was the best compliment to her cooking anyone could give her.

Before she had managed two spoonfuls of her own, Timmy's bowl was cleared. "Do you have any more?" he asked.


	14. Dec 14

_**Dec 14  
**_Irony is the hygiene of the mind.  
**Princess Elizabeth Asquith Bibesco**

Tony DiNozzo stared in vain at his desk, hoping against all hope the Director would rescind her order or a group of roaming fairies would come along and help him out.

The first didn't have a chance. Director Shepard had been attacked by a pile of falling debris from his desk the previous day and ordered him to clear it. By clear, she had made absolutely certain he understood she meant being able to see it was actually a desk. A clean desk.

The fairies were a faint hope that someone or something would come along to sort the mess out for him. And he had to admit there was a mess. He hadn't removed his takeout containers for the last two months, for instance. He had lost track of which files were on his desk. He even had a funny feeling he had a few cups of coffee that were meant for _el jefe_ in its depths.

"Need a hand?" McGee offered.

Tony forced himself not to hug the Probie. It would be unseemly. "Cheers, Probie. Where do you want to start?"

"I think you should call the CDC," McScientist suggested. "Get them to incinerate the whole thing. It would be the quickest method, not to mention the most hygienic."

Tony scowled. Someone needed to take this more seriously. The Director had promised to tell her pet Mossad assassin the name of the person who had spilled her last Berry Mango Madness all over her desk if he didn't get this done by the end of the day.


	15. Dec 15

_**Dec 15  
**_Keep your broken arm inside your sleeve.  
**Chinese Proverb**

Ziva David strolled into the squad room on time, tossed her rucksack behind her desk, and settled in her chair for the start of a new day.

"Erm, what's that?" came the query from her partner.

Briefly, she allowed her eyes to flutter closed. She had known this was going to happen. It was not like she was in any pain, or rather any pain she could not work through. She could still do her job better than DiNozzo and McGee combined (no one could do it better than Gibbs). She would not be a liability in the field. So where was the problem?

Of course, her team might make it into a problem that it was not if she was not careful. She was not sure they would follow her line of reasoning. And therefore she had already come up with a plan.

"What is what?" she asked Tony, despite knowing exactly what he was referring to.

"That." Tony pointed.

"The cast on your arm," McGee helpfully put into words. "Did you break it or something?"

"Chasing down a fellow ninja?" Tony suggested, his eyes lighting up at the thought.

"No," she replied, returning to her now fully powered-up computer.

"No to the ninja or no to the breaking?" McGee decided to clarify.

"I have not seen any ninjas recently," she answered. "And I have not broken my arm."

"Why is it in a cast then?" Tony demanded.

"What cast?" she questioned.

"On your left arm," he growled.

She looked down at her black cast. "No, I do not see a cast," she informed him.

Tony growled, while McGee looked confused. She hid a smirk. Perhaps if it was going this well, she might be able to persuade Gibbs –

"David, explain the cast," Gibbs ordered as he swept in out of nowhere.

Drat.


	16. Dec 16

_**Dec 16  
**_You can't help getting older, but you don't have to get old.  
**George Burns (1896 - 1996)**

Ducky wobbled dangerously before stabilizing himself. Then he began to smile. This had been a good idea.

Except for the risk of various injuries. He was most concerned about twists, sprains and breaks. Any of those would put him and Jethro out of action for weeks.

He did not want to inquire as to where Jethro had appropriated two pairs of roller-skates, especially not two pairs that were suitable for men and fit them both. His were black with a red lightning bolt along the outer side, while Jethro's were dark blue. Jethro had suggested wearing a variety of pads and a helmet, but Ducky had argued against it.

No sense drawing more attention to two elderly men roller-skating through DC.

They skated through Rock Creek Park, both hoping they would not run into Jethro's team. Abby would understand, but the team would not. Far better not to tell them what the two friends got up to in their spare time.

The biting wind chilled Ducky, but the sun was shining and there was not a cloud in the sky for once. If the frozen wind died down, it would be a nice, albeit cool, day. The forecast was for snow in the next few days, and then their outdoor activities would have to stop. At least it would give them an opportunity to spend more time on their yoga.

They continued their leisurely skating, exchanging grins every now and then. This had definitely been a good idea.


	17. Dec 17

_**Dec 17  
**_Force overcome by force.  
(Vi Victa Vis)  
**Cicero (106 BC - 43 BC)**

Philip Irving didn't think an agency he'd never heard of would ever be able to prove he'd killed that marine the other night. What the hell was NCIS anyway? If he'd never heard of it, there was a good bet it was rubbish and he would be out of here by lunch.

He was being questioned rather informally in a squad room by a beautiful Israeli. She seemed to be falling for his charms, if the way her annoying teammates had fallen silent was any indication. The man sitting directly behind him had quoted movies non-stop on the way here, while the other man wore an expression of official boredom.

"Are we done then?" he asked the woman. "Because I'd love to take you out to dinner tonight."

She smiled dangerously and he wondered if he'd made a mistake. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the men backing up slowly. Major mistake then.

An older man with gray hair wandered into the squad room, a baseball bat resting on his right shoulder. "This Irving?" he asked the woman.

At her nod, he continued. "You kill Rankin?" he demanded.

Irving glanced from the stony expression on his face to the baseball bat. Sheesh, did she work with her father or something? This guy was going to kill him for flirting with his daughter. Perhaps it was better to confess and get put in a cell away from this guy.

"Yes," he admitted. "I need a lawyer."


	18. Dec 18

_**Dec 18  
**_Hereafter, in a better world than this,  
I shall desire more love and knowledge of you.  
**William Shakespeare (1564 - 1616)**, _"As You Like It", Act 1 scene 2_

Abby Scuito had had a long day.

Longer than usual, which was saying something for her. She regularly worked sixteen hour days, surviving on caffeine and the energy that never left her. She napped on her futon whenever she had a spare half an hour waiting for results. And so a long day for her was an exceptionally long day for anyone else.

It had all been Major Mass Spec's fault. One too many grotty drug samples had clogged up a column. It happened every month or so, and she was sort of used to it. But this had happened at one of those moments she needed everything to go right. Agent Wofford had seized a major haul of cocaine, and it was Abby's job to prove the white powder was actually cocaine, the purity of the sample, and the probable provenance.

All of which she needed Major Mass Spec for.

Not to mention all the other analyses she needed to run, the standard analyses she did every day. Spending two hours unexpectedly changing a fiddly column on the Major was not a constructive use of her time.

While all her babies were working for once, she reached over to her desk and tugged Bert to her. He would cheer her up. He would remind her how loved she was.


	19. Dec 19

_**Dec 19  
**_People are usually more convinced by reasons they discovered themselves than by those found by others.  
**Blaise Pascal (1623 - 1662)**

Ziva David was acutely aware that she had a soft spot for one Tony DiNozzo. It was the only reason she could think of as to why she had not yet chopped him into little pieces and disposed of his body.

He was beyond annoying. He took pleasure in winding her up every single day of the week, every week of the year. He poked and prodded her, played with her possessions (she did not mind her possessions, but she felt he needed to learn boundaries), pulled pranks on her, blamed his lack of results to Gibbs on her, constantly quoted movies, and was generally a smart-mouthed, pain in her backside.

Anyone else would be dead by now. She would have killed them long ago. So why was Tony still alive? She must have a soft spot for him. But why?

Was it because he was her friend? Despite his usual antics in front of witnesses, he looked out for her. He knew when she was hurting inside and he provided comfort in whatever way his damaged soul could. He knew what was necessary to cheer her up. He threatened to join her in killing whoever she wished to kill.

Was it because he made her laugh? His sense of humor was very different to hers, but he could put a smile on her face most of the time with almost no effort. Was it because, while he pushed her most of the time, he never pushed her too far? He knew her limits without her ever having to voice them.

She did not know. But she knew if she observed his actions for longer, she might be able to figure it out.


	20. Dec 20

_**Dec 20  
**_Remember that nobody will ever get ahead of you as long as he is kicking you in the seat of the pants.  
**Walter Winchell (1897 - 1972)**

Timothy McGee felt it was his role to be constantly teased by Tony. As the Probie, he was there to be picked on and to have various silly little pranks pulled on him.

On one level, it annoyed him no end. He wanted to be left alone so he could get on with his work. He wanted Tony to stop treating him as an intruder and start treating him as one of the team. He wanted Tony to focus his energy on Ziva, who would happily kill or maim him if he went too far. Ziva had happily accepted Tim into their odd family; why could Tony not do the same?

But he was secretly okay with Tony acting the fool with him. It gave him the chance to keep learning. It gave him the opportunity to keep ahead of Tony without the other man realizing it. Tony was far too distracted by dreaming up his next antic or plotting how to get his latest girl or trying to avoid work to realize what Tim was doing. Tim worked hard, kept his head down as best he could, and got on with his job.

Perhaps Tony's teasing was his way of welcoming him to the family. After all, the other man still treated Ziva in the same way, even if he was happy to expend most of his energy on Tim.

But it didn't matter to Tim. Tony did not do it maliciously, and that was all that mattered to him.


	21. Dec 21

_**Dec 21  
**_America is the only nation in history which miraculously has gone directly from barbarism to degeneration without the usual interval of civilization.  
**Georges Clemenceau (1841 - 1929)**

Jennifer Shepard had very few breaks in her long day. Most of it was scheduled for her. Meetings in her office, meetings in MTAC, meetings about missions, meetings with team leaders, paperwork, paperwork and more paperwork… The very few gaps in her calendar tended to be filled rapidly with everything else running late.

When she had very brief breaks, she liked to spend them on the catwalk above the squad room. A few minutes watching various teams interact not only made her smile and remember previous times when she had been in their relatively carefree position, but also warned her about any upcoming problems between team members. She preferred a heads-up before it all went to hell and she was called in.

Today she was observing Agent Gibbs' team. Or rather two particular members of Agent Gibbs' team. Agent DiNozzo had stolen Agent McGee's favorite pen. Agent McGee had protested verbally. Agent DiNozzo had stuck his tongue out in an unprofessional manner. Agent McGee had again protested verbally and then threatened to call Agent Gibbs back from his caffeine supplier and inform him of what was going on. Agent DiNozzo had paled, called him a snitch, and stolen Agent McGee's second favorite pen.

Which had led to the current fight in the middle of the squad room. Jenny was secretly siding with McGee, while wondering if, as the only other person in the squad room, she was required to go down there and break the fight up.

Gibbs solved the problem for her by storming back into the squad room, coffee cup attached to his hand, and bellowing for his two agents to separate. As the two men sheepishly returned to their respective desks, Gibbs glanced right up and her and gave her a quick grin.

She returned it before heading back to her office. She was going to be treated to him tearing his agents a new one while she continued her paperwork.


	22. Dec 22

_**Dec 22  
**_Good ideas alter the power balance in relationships, that is why good ideas are always initially resisted. Good ideas come with a heavy burden. Which is why so few people have them. So few people can handle it.  
**Hugh Macleod**, _How To Be Creative: 1 Ignore Everybody, 08-22-04_

Tony DiNozzo wandered into Abby's lab mainly because he couldn't think of anywhere else to go. Gibbs was still in a foul mood over a fight from the day before that he had been in no way responsible for, and their current case was going nowhere fast. Ducky had several very stinky bodies down in Autopsy, and only Abby would greet him with a smile and just the scent of gunpowder.

"Hey, Abs," he greeted her, catching sight of her injecting something into one of her babies and deciding to give her a moment. "You'd never guess what happened last night."

"At the NCIS Christmas party?" she giggled. "I have a _lot_ of gossip."

"After the party," he corrected her. "We need to exchange gossip later. Did Fornell gatecrash?"

"Ziva invited him," Abby informed him. "So what happened after? Did you and Ziva hook up?"

"No!" he protested. "I drove home alone. But I got stopped by the cops and breathalyzed."

"How much had you drunk?" Abby demanded.

"I was under the limit," he argued. "But for one moment I was scared I was going to fail."

Abby tutted, finishing whatever she had been doing with her machine and turning around to glare at him with her hands on her hips. "Have I not taught you _anything_?"

"Huh?"

"There are ways to beat the test."

"Like sucking a copper coin?"

She stared at him. "Why would that work?"

He shrugged. "Urban legend then."

The Goth began to smile. "Come with me and let me teach you a few tricks. But don't drive drunk. That would be stupid."

He chuckled as he followed her into her office. Abby knew everything.


	23. Dec 23

_**Dec 23  
**_Many receive advice, few profit by it.  
**Publilius Syrus (~100 BC)**, _Maxims_

Timothy McGee did not usually speculate on the stock market. It was far too risky for him, despite his mathematic genius. While some people argued it was a skill, he knew success was more down to dumb luck.

But Abby had persuaded him to give it a try. In partnership with her. One of them was nearly always by a computer and they could keep track of their money at all times. He had only agreed because it was Abby and together they were almost unstoppable, and because she had agreed to start with a very small amount of money in a trial phase.

In one sense, it was easier than he had expected. Moving the money around took almost no effort and staring at page after page of numbers was something he did every day in his job anyway.

But while it appeared simple, it was deceptively complex. Trying to stay ahead of the game and the pack. Trying to work out what would give him and profit and what would wipe out his investment. It required time, energy and luck.

Now he had spent some time following the market, he had come to the conclusion it was all a gambling game. To make a profit involved luck, nothing more, nothing less. People risked everything on the temptation of making a small profit.

He knew where he stood on continuing the project. Now he just had to persuade Abby to see his point of view.


	24. Dec 24

_**Dec 24  
**_It is quite possible for people who have never met us and who have spent only twenty minutes thinking about us to come to a better understanding of who we are than people who have known us for years.  
**Malcolm Gladwell**, _Blink: The Power of Thinking Without Thinking, 2005_

Ziva David had never met the woman she had replaced on Gibbs' team. Replaced was definitely the wrong word though. Ziva was not a replacement for anyone. She had simply filled a gap that had been created through no one's fault but Ari's.

But she felt she understood Kate. To survive in NCIS and especially Gibbs' team, a person had to be tough. They had to be able to hold their own, especially against Tony. They had to keep an eye out for McGee, who was developing into a strong agent. But back when she had started, he had needed guidance and support. They had to be prepared to put their own neck on the line every time they went into the field.

It was not a job for cowards. It was not a job for someone lazy, like Tony. It was a job for a hardworking individual, who could work both on their own and in a team.

Abby had loved Kate; that had been clear from the moment they first met. The Goth had hated Ziva for the crime of trying to take Kate's place. At first, the Israeli had not been able to understand such blind loyalty, but now she was friends with Abby herself, she understood why she had reacted in such a way. Kate must have been a very good friend to Abby, a rock for her to lean on. She suspected they had shared many a girly giggle in their time together.

No, she had never met Caitlin, but Ziva felt she understood her in a way.


	25. Dec 25

_**Dec 25  
**_The superior man cannot be known in little matters, but he may be entrusted with great concerns. The small man may not be entrusted with great concerns, but he may be known in little matters.  
**Confucius (551 BC - 479 BC)**, _The Confucian Analects_

Ducky loved Christmas. It was a time of joy, a time of family.

This year, the team were sharing Christmas dinner at his house. He had encouraged them to bring presents and generally enjoy their time together. If he had not intervened, he knew exactly how the day would have ended up. Jethro would drown his sorrows in bourbon, Jennifer would burn her kitchen down, Abigail would have too much Caf-Pow!, Ziva would do nothing, Anthony would only stir from his spot in front of his television for food, while Timothy would probably spend all day online.

With no families of their own to go to, he wanted their own little dysfunctional one to spend the day together. He had given them the morning alone, aware some would prefer to sleep in while others would be up at the crack of dawn.

But now he was waiting for them to arrive, bringing various dishes for dinner with them. Part of him was excited about the prospect of spending a holiday with his friends, while another part was worried someone would forget to come or forget their dish.

As he paced back and forth in his living room, he heard a car pull up onto his drive. His face broke into a smile as he scurried for the front door. His first guest!


	26. Dec 26

_**Dec 26  
**_While we stop to think, we often miss our opportunity.  
**Publilius Syrus (~100 BC)**, _Maxims_

Tony DiNozzo was not a person who stopped to think about his actions. For one, his actions were usually invented off the cuff of his sleeve, and it was kind of hard to work out the consequences of his ideas when he was in the middle of implementing them.

He didn't want to stop and think either. It was something the Probie did that paralyzed him with indecision until it got to a stage where something either needed to be done immediately or someone would die. If something needed to be done, it needed to be done and he was not going to waste time working out all the possible results and the probability of each of them occurring.

No, he preferred to go with his gut, like Gibbs. He trusted his gut to tell him the right thing to do. While he did not blindly follow it like _el jefe_, he knew it would point him in the right direction and his vast knowledge of being a cop and movies would help him figure out the rest in seconds.

It was quite possible that one of these days his gut was going to get him killed. Until then, he was perfectly happy to go with it.


	27. Dec 27

_**Dec 27  
**_There are women who are for all your 'times of life.' They're the most wonderful sort.  
**Henry James (1843 - 1916)**, _"The Ambassadors", Book Fifth, Chapter 3_

Leroy Jethro Gibbs considered Jenny to be a mystery.

A good mystery, rather than someone he needed to interrogate to figure out. Not that he ever would be able to figure out the enigma she presented even if he interrogated her. He wasn't _that_ good.

She confused him. He had long ago buried his emotions deep within him, rarely allowing them to come to the surface. It helped him survive, it helped him get on with his life. His ex-wives had not been able to see beneath the cold exterior he had presented. Only Shannon had, and that had been because he had let her.

But Jenny could read him like a book. She knew when he was tired, frustrated, in desperate need of a coffee. She knew when he was in the mood for a Chinese or pizza or some of Naomi's cooking. She knew when he needed to take a break from a case and when he would only stop if he fell down dead. Despite all the barriers he put in place, somehow she could see straight through them to the very heart of him.

Not only did she always know how he felt, she always knew just what was best for her to do to help. She knew when he would be better left alone to brood. She knew when it was best to interrupt his brooding and distract him with something else. She knew when he needed a break and the best way for him to spend one.

Jenny was a mystery to him. But he wouldn't leave her for the world.


	28. Dec 28

_**Dec 28  
**_The future belongs to those who can rise above the confines of the earth.  
**Alfred North Whitehead**** (1861 - 1947)**, _From the viewbook of Embry-Riddle Aeronautical University_

Timothy McGee resisted the urge to scream as the elevator ground to a halt. He had almost made it out the building…

It had been a long, tough week. Three children kidnapped out their beds as they slept at night had annoyed Gibbs and his team enough that they had poured every last ounce of effort and time into getting them back alive. Which they had, but at a cost. They hadn't slept in four days. Tim was pretty sure he was starting to hallucinate.

Gibbs had ordered them to go home, sleep, and not set foot in the Navy Yard before midday tomorrow. Tim had been desperate to obey the order, but his computer had picked up a virus at some point during the investigation (he couldn't honestly separate Day Two and Day Three in his head) and he needed to deal with it before it did serious damage. And so he had remained behind for the past two hours to sort it out.

It should have taken a lot less time, but he was exhausted and the computer screen had swum the whole time.

And now, just as he had been about to escape, the elevator had broken down.

He shrugged, resigned to his fate. There was no energy left in him to rant at the universe for its quirks. Instead, he removed his jacket and curled up in a ball on the floor. He could catch up on his sleep here. Someone would find him in the morning.


	29. Dec 29

_**Dec 29  
**_Far better it is to dare mighty things, to win glorious triumphs even though checkered by failure, than to rank with those poor spirits who neither enjoy nor suffer much because they live in the gray twilight that knows neither victory nor defeat.  
**Theodore Roosevelt**** (1858 - 1919)**

Ziva David was prepared to take risks. Whether in her personal life or professional one, she had learnt that taking risks was the best way to get what she wanted.

As a Mossad Officer, taking risks had gone with the job. Her task was to ensure the safety of her country, no matter what it took. If she had had to lay down her life, she would have done so without a second thought. If she had to leap out of a window, she did. If she had to abseil down a sheer cliff-face in the pitch black, without a safety harness and with a torrential rainstorm pounding against her, she did.

Risk was necessary in order to make something succeed. Small things could succeed without risk needing to be taken, but anything big required a gamble. A gamble she was prepared to make.

She took risks in her personal life too, although that had been more recent. Coming to America had been a risk. Allowing herself to make friends carried risks – would they betray her? Would they leave her? Would they break her heart?

But the bigger the risk, the greater the payoff. She was prepared to risk opening her heart, aware of the joys it would bring her if it all worked out, but she was also acutely aware of how badly it could backfire.


	30. Dec 30

_**Dec 30  
**_Work saves us from three great evils: boredom, vice and need.  
**Voltaire**** (1694 - 1778)**, _Candide, 1759_

Tony DiNozzo was regularly bored at work. It was practically in his job description.

Even if Gibbs was around and looking over his shoulder, prepared to give a headslap at any moment, he was still bothered by boredom. It was an infection, something he could never quite throw off. Sometimes it stayed away for weeks at a time, but sometimes it afflicted him for days on end.

He had learned to live with it, devising various ingenious methods to keep it at bay. Pulling pranks on his teammates. Taking naps. Annoying a Mossad assassin until she threatened to kill him or chased him around the Navy Yard for hours on end. While the latter certainly killed time, it was likely to kill him in the end.

Right now, he was working on his latest plan to kill time and keep his mind occupied. Building paper airplanes. Or more accurately adding to his collection of paper airplanes that lived in the third drawer of his desk so he could throw them at the Probie when he was bored and Gibbs was off satisfying his caffeine fix.

He folded them carefully, taking time to make sure they were perfect. It wouldn't do to have them fall short of McGee's desk. He began to line them up on his desk so he could count them as he produced them.

"Found PFC Foster yet?" Gibbs demanded as he swept past.

Tony swept his collection into the first drawer to hand. "Working on it, Boss."


	31. Dec 31

_**Dec 31  
**_Only one absolute certainty is possible to man, namely that at any given moment the feeling which he has exists.  
**Thomas H. Huxley**** (1825 - 1895)**

Anthony DiNozzo loved the annual NCIS New Year's Eve ball. Jenny had created it several years ago, and he enjoyed spending the night getting very drunk and counting down the end of the year with his co-workers and a free bar. Who could ask for more?

Ziva came up behind him and nudged his arm, handing him a fresh glass of scotch. He smiled gratefully at her as he sipped it, allowing his eyes to flick around the room to Gibbs, who was unsuccessfully trying to snog Jenny in the corner without anyone spotting them.

"Think I've won the pool," he told his partner happily.

"They have been dating for the past seven months," Ziva informed him, dashing his hopes. "And she has not had any bourbon tonight."

His eyebrows shot up. "Are you suggesting…?"

Ziva shrugged. "Ask Abby. I saw the two of them playing with a blood sample the other day."

"Abs!" He grabbed her arm as she went past just at the right moment, earning a frown from McGoo who had apparently decided manhandling the favorite was not on. Tony suspected Gibbs was a little busy to be worrying about his Goth right then. "Is the Director pregnant?"

Abby looked confused. "Why are you asking me? Oh, _are_ they pregnant? Yay! What a fantastic start to the New Year!"

"No, wait," Tony continued, determined to stop her before she spread a false rumor. "You mean you don't know if they are? Hang on, you knew Gibbs and Jenny were together!"

Even McGee rolled his eyes. "It was kind of obvious," he pointed out.

"But the blood sample," Tony brought up.

"That was Ziva's," Abby beamed. "I wanted to see if I could test for –"

Tony shook his head. "Never mind." He should never have opened this particular can of worms, but it didn't matter. He was still celebrating with his friends and they would all still be by his side tomorrow.

With hangovers, wanting to curl into a ball and die, but that was the whole point of New Years. What else were friends for?

* * *

_A/N: Thank you so much for sticking with me for so long. I hope it's been worth it._


End file.
